


Chains of Love

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Playful Punishment, M/M, Male Slash, Master/Slave Play, Slash, Vulcan Erotica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New - final chapter 3:  Kirk had only read part of the ancient Vulcan erotica book – perhaps he should have read the rest – as he found himself chained now to the bed, with the tables turned – and the distinct impression that his captaincy would not protect him at all from his first officer’s very eager enthusiastic erotic assault…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kirk hadn’t expected to find the slender volume of erotic Vulcan love poetry lying on his pillow when he dragged back to his ship’s-quarters late that evening.

Spock was spending the night down on the Starbase tonight; lectures and meetings back-to-back would require his attendance until at least oh-five-hundred tomorrow morning. The powers-that-be had already demanded Kirk’s presence for the past two-and-a-half days of debriefings and updates and general shooting-the-shit; and he and Spock had spent the nights down in the officers’-quarters on the base. But sleeping in strange beds is never fully restful, even when lying beside one’s bond-mate, so for tonight, Spock had urged Kirk to go back up to the ship and get a good night’s sleep – since he’d have to sleep alone anyway – then in the morning they could get back together again and at least share breakfast before tomorrow’s meetings started up once again at oh-eight-hundred sharp.

Kirk had protested being forced to sleep alone, expressed a few choice sentiments for the powers-that-be who would keep Spock occupied all night long, then obligingly transported back up to the Enterprise and one very welcome captain’s-stateroom.

And found the little gift waiting on his pillow.

At first Kirk had assumed that Spock had meant it as a little comforting compensation for having to spend the night alone, bereft of his nightly source of Vulcan heat. But after reading a few of the poems and lyrics and paeans of this surrogate Vulcan heat, he decided instead that the whole situation was an insidious plot to keep him awake all night, hard as a rock and ravenous with desire, and no bed-partner to quench his need. Evidently Spock had decided that if he had to stay up all night, so would his mate.

‘ _Take me to thy chamber, warrior-brother,_ ’

the first lyric had started,

‘ _and we shall loose the swords at our thighs_

_and meet upon a battle-ground of love;_

_and we shall drink the wine of warriors,_

_pale-sheened and tart, to sate our desires,_

_and rejoice in mutual victory._ ’

And Kirk had contemplated that maybe a starship-captain’s quarters would do just as well as the bed-chamber of an ancient Vulcan warrior. Unfortunately, however, that was as far as they’d get tonight, as the other half of their warrior-bond was down on the Starbase right now, buried in a conference somewhere, discussing the ramifications of the periodic bursts of gamma radiation from the nearby galaxy cluster XB-149-A, or something such-other just as exciting.

He wondered if Spock had found the book down on the base and bought it on the spur of the moment, or if it was something which had belonged to him for many years, and he had now decided to share it with his bond-mate. Whatever, Kirk only wished that that hot Vulcan was here so they could share it together.

It looked old and worn, as if its previous owner (or owners) had consulted it enough to commit it to memory, or perhaps to prepare nightly battle tactics. Most of it was an interlinear translation from the original ancient Vulcan script of five-millennia past, into modern Standard; although scattered throughout were paragraphs written in modern Vulcan with no translation. When the two of them did have a chance to share this love-gift together, Kirk would insist that Spock translate those passages as well. If the prose was anything like the poetry, he wanted to know about it.

He had undressed and gotten ready for bed, all the while recalling another poem which lingered tantalizing about the edges of his mind, a gift Spock had offered on their bond-night:

‘ _Thou are the incense of marash’ti spice,_

_I am the wine of white dhyara blossoms._

_Warrior-brother, let us delight in mirrored beauty,_

_hands caressing jewels of dark-green hardness,_

_lips seeking twin nubs of blood-green tenderness,_

_dagger meeting dagger in an exquisite duel_

_to sheath in satin and sweet saddh’isa unguent._

_And our gushing fountains will fill each other_

_with the sweet liquor of transcendent ecstasy_.’

Actually Kirk considered that what Spock filled him with was more like the transcendent ecstasy of the brilliance of a fully-charged photon explosion, rather than a sweet gushing fountain. Too bad those ancient warriors knew nothing about modern armaments – although Kirk had to admit that the original old-fashioned model worked just fine, even without modern technological advancements. Perfection needed no improvements.

He climbed into bed naked, very keenly aware of the sword at his thigh, and thought about a certain dagger of jade-solidity that was welcome anytime to sheathe itself in his own slick wet channel. They didn’t happen to have any saddh’isa unguent on hand, but no doubt McCoy’s all-purpose lubricant worked just as well. If only that exquisite jade weapon were here now.

Lying there, face-up in comfort and warmth, he spread his legs, and drew up one knee to better expose his tender parts. A little quiver zagged through his own dusky-rose weapon as it thrust up half-hard toward the ceiling. A little ache throbbed in his loins, pulsed in his testicles; and he reached one hand down to caress his own jewels. Where was Spock’s hand when he needed it? A few casual feather-strokes up and down the underside ridge of his cock, and a tiny shuddering moan of pleasure whispered from his lips. He touched a finger to the opening – the moan became a groan – then gently explored the velvet dry glans. In response, a droplet of pre-sem bubbled out. Fingertip smeared it all over the swollen head, and the hardening cock swelled even stronger in the grasping fist.

Perversely he hoped that Spock was stuck in a boring meeting somewhere right now, feeling his own steel-hard prick swelling to thoughts of Kirk, and unable to do anything about it. And then Kirk amused himself with curiosity: would Spock, sitting there in that room with five or ten or twenty other Federations representatives and scientists, surreptitiously slip a hand down beneath the concealment of the conference table and indulge himself with a couple of good squeezes to the bulk filling his uniform trousers? The image electrified Kirk’s own bulk, and very nearly triggered his own gushing fountain.

Immediately he stilled his pumping fist, took a few deep steadying breaths. “Not just yet, buddy,” he coaxed the eagerly expectant portion of his anatomy. “Wait a little while. We’re gonna make this real good, and Spock’s gonna be really envious when he finds out what he missed.”

Somewhat reluctantly he let go of himself, then reached again for the poetry volume. If he was going to torment himself on this lonely night reading hot Vulcan love-sonnets, he might as well do a good job of it. Raising up on one elbow, he flipped through the pages, scanning the lines, the rich erotic liquid-sensual images and offerings and promises of glorious ecstasies.

Until a bit of margin-writing caught his eye, and he stopped to read it.

It was lettered in Spock’s own precise neat script.

“ _T’hy’la,_ ” it read, “ _wherever I am at this moment, know that I am thinking of you. Our bond has pleased me as has nothing else in all my life. I trust that you are enjoying this book – these are my words to you, written five millennia ago and renewed every time we touch. Your warrior-mate and brother, Spock_.”

A warmth besides the purely sexual heat settled in Kirk’s flesh. God, he missed that bed-mate of his more than ever now.

And then the realization struck him that this little dedication of Spock’s had been hidden in the middle of the book, rather than written on the frontispiece where one would normally leave such a note for the recipient of the gift. Was that deliberate, or simply a casual act? He’d never known Spock to do anything which hadn’t been carefully thought out in advance, so no doubt there had to be a purpose to this as well. Perhaps the poem on that particular page held special significance for the two of them – perhaps Spock had meant for Kirk to take special note of these lines.

He read a stanza; and felt desire surge harder than ever in his begging flesh.

‘ _I am thine, t’hy’la, my king, possessed to my very soul,_

_a slave to thine every desire, dark or light._

_Use my flesh as thou wilt, feel the hot flush of my blood._

_Bind my wrists with chains of gold,_

_encircle my neck in gold with studs of jewels._

_Open me to thy need, ravish me to thy will._

_Yoke me with unpermitted pleasures, deny me release,_

_Eat of my fruits offered willingly to thee,_

_and I shall drink my wine with milk_.’

Kirk put the book aside, and lay back down flat on the bed. Irregular breaths heaved in his chest. New images flooded his mind, his own hot blood, fantasies of that Vulcan of his, that strong dominant-male Vulcan, kneeling submissively by the side of their bed, a studded jeweled-collar locked about his neck, wrists restrained behind his back, offering every body portal for his captain’s use.

One human cock straining to full erection demanded immediate attention with no further delays. Again Kirk took it in hand and began to work the loose skin up and down a swollen shaft surely as hard as a starship’s tritanium outer hull. A steady trickle of lubricating fluid dribbled out the tip, oozed down the throbbing organ, slicked between gripping fingers. He could feel the thrumming pulse in his highly sensitive glans now swollen purple with need.

A groan rumbled deep in his throat; his bent knee flopped to the side, exposing himself all the way. With his free hand, he squeezed his testicles, squeezed the heavy weight of his scrotal sac, worked it, all the while pumping the last few moments to orgasm. And he envisioned that bound Vulcan performing mouth-work on him, tongue and teeth stimulating his prick, hot mouth vigorously sucking his balls, arms restrained behind a strong back, muscles rigid beneath sallow skin. The image nearly took Kirk’s breath away. He was panting now, sweating profusely, on the verge of climax; involuntarily his legs squirmed with the building tension. Roughly his palm massaged his balls, while his middle finger sought a tight puckered opening, found it, and thrust in mercilessly.

And with that, orgasm exploded, emblazed his brain, galvanized every nerve, and cum jetted out in several short bursts. And his bound fantasy-Spock did drink the bitter milky liquor, and savored every drop.

And then ecstasy faded, and Kirk lay there on his bed, alone, gasping for breath, drained of energy. A few more lax tugs on his exhausted flesh, then he let go, and stretched his arms stiffly over his head. It had been good – very good – but he still wished that Spock had been here to share it with him. Lazily he smeared the semen-splatter on his belly.

The significance of the autographed poem continued to titillate his imagination. He wondered, could Spock really have meant that as a direct suggestion to vary their love-play? It certainly was direct. They had never played any bondage games so far, but nothing said they couldn’t give it a try.

Tomorrow down on the base, between meetings, he thought he would go off on a little personal errand. Since Spock had just presented him with a gift, the least he should do is return the gesture with a gift of his own. And he knew of several specialty shops back in the civilian section of the base that stocked exactly the kind of present he had in mind.

And with that pleasant thought and sated body, he willed himself to sleep.

* * * * *

“All right, you can open it now.” With a little nod to the small package in Spock’s hands, Kirk grinned in anticipation.

  
_to be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancient erotic Vulcan love poetry is nice to read… but even more fun to act on, Kirk figures – especially since he has his very own Vulcan to try it out upon…

“All right, you can open it now.” With a little nod to the small package in Spock’s hands, Kirk grinned in anticipation.

He sat on the bed in Spock’s quarters, one leg folded beneath the other, arms across his lap. They had just gotten out of the shower, and now both wore nothing but towels around bare hips. Spock had wanted to consummate in the bath while they were both all slicked up and soapy, but Kirk had talked him into deferring the heavy activity until he saw what Kirk had planned for the rest of the evening. Spock had obliged, but he had missed his bed-partner the night before as much as Kirk had missed him, so he refused to let Kirk out of the shower until the human at least submitted to a complete intimate body search right there beneath the hot stinging spray. And Kirk had smiled to himself while yielding to the very thorough exploratory hands and fingers. Tonight definitely promised to prove highly satisfying.

With a hesitant look of suspicion, Spock stepped closer to the bed and his bond-mate. Kirk only lay back, seductive smile teasing his lips, and touched a caressing finger to Spock’s thigh. “Go on,” he nudged provocatively. “Open it.”

Spock’s suspicion only increased, but he untied the ribbon, undid the wrapping, and lifted the box-lid. Kirk relished the change of expression on the Vulcan’s face – so subtle, yet so obvious to anyone knowledgeable in reading Vulcan emotions. Dark Vulcan eyes glanced from the package contents to Kirk’s face – the faintest hint of a smile in those alien eyes; and a zing of pleasure needled Kirk’s solar plexus – then back to the gift.

“I hope they fit,” Kirk commented seductively, and hazel eyes danced with anticipation.

“ ‘One size fits all’ ?” Spock queried – and lifted out a jewel-studded gilded slave-collar and a pair of matching handcuffs. “And just which of us is supposed to wear these accoutrements tonight?”

Husky shoulders shrugged. “I read the poem you left for me… promising your king that you were a slave to his every need, that he could do anything he wanted to you… chain you, collar you… And I just thought that maybe we should try out some of it for real.”

“Oh, did you.”

Those deep eyes raked Kirk’s body, lingered on a swelling human cock beneath the towel skirt; and Kirk felt the heat of that hot gaze ignite the kindling in his loins. And considered that this Vulcan warrior bond-mate of his had the power to ravish him thoroughly without even laying a finger on him.

“Would my captain like for me to enact his fantasized pleasure for him?”

An excited purr escaped between smiling lips. “Mm… your captain would like that very much, Spock.” Casually – too casually – human hands slid down human hips, then pushed up the towel to expose a very flushed rising human cock.

A slight nod of sleek dark head. “Apparently so.”

Aimlessly Kirk’s fingers toyed with the hem of Spock’s towel. “Sorry I didn’t get the solid gold collar set with Ehrleyan crystals – those are kind of hard to come by these days. But I think this will look very… attractive… on you, anyway…”

“Then let us put that theory to the test, Captain.”

“Let’s do that, Science Officer.”

And then, eyes never leaving Kirk’s face, Spock obligingly raised the collar to his throat, fastened the clasp in back, then stood there, arms at his sides, and watched his bond-mate on the bed, gaze still proud and tempting, despite the symbol of submission yoking him.

Kirk’s own smoldering gaze studied the lean sallow form standing before him, naked but for the brief towel draped over slender hips. Against the pale skin of vulnerable throat gleamed shiny metal and glittering stone – and the effect raised Kirk’s interest several degrees. Expectantly his organ squirmed its own desire.

Spock noted the positive result. “I would say the experiment succeeded, Captain.”

Kirk grazed a finger over the equal bulk defined beneath Spock’s towel. “Doubly so, Science Officer.”

Vulcan hips nudged forward to prolong the gentle contact. The fingers did not slip under the material, but continued their exploration of pendulous testicles and swelling shaft bulging the cloth.

“… In fact,” Kirk commented, “I think you should wear that every day, beneath your uniform collar… just for me…”

“It is not regulation, Captain.”

“No… but it should be… for first-officers who leave erotic poetry in their captain’s quarters, promising complete servitude and willingness to be possessed totally and desire to submit to whatever their captain chooses…”

One strong slender hand held out the gilt manacles. “Does the captain wish these applied as well?”

“The captain,” Kirk divulged sotto voce, “is going to come all over himself, if you keep talking like that.”

Spock did not answer, but clasped one shackle about his left wrist, then turned around, brought his hands together behind his back, and locked his right hand. A breath of excitement sighed from Kirk’s lungs. Spock started to turn again, but Kirk stopped him.

“No – no… stay like that for a moment. Let me look at you.”

While Spock remained where he was, Kirk drank in the sight of the strong lean alien, his lover, his bond-mate. The room light sparkled through the gems of the irons, highlighted the taut planes of that body. With full self-awareness, Spock tensed the muscles of his back and arms, moving slightly to afford a more sensual image, and Kirk’s audible intake of breath told him that he’d succeeded. His muscles were not bulky, but lithe and corded; and Kirk liked nothing better than to lie beneath that steel strength and pleasure it, and be pleasured by it.

Sensually Kirk slid an admiring hand over the sinewy back, slender waist, hard-muscled rump, grasped the inside of a solid thigh, caressed it, feather-touched it up and down, eliciting a slight involuntary quiver across his mate’s warm skin. He fancied that he could feel the electric tingle that danced between their touching flesh, electric tingle that danced all the way right down to his crotch.

Then hooking a finger on the short chain joining the manacles, he tugged gently at Spock’s restrained arms, urged softly, “Kiss me, First Officer… warrior-brother…”

Spock turned, knelt beside the bed, took in the erotic view of Kirk lying there smiling, one knee drawn up, towel bunched at his hips, genitals exposed and vulnerable… and ripe. Teasingly Kirk drew a fingertip across the bare chest over him, delighted in the sleek delineation of muscle made all the more prominent by the tension of arms pinned back and locked, lightly rubbed a dark-tinged pap standing erect against greenish-yellowish skin. Another quiver raced through Spock’s body, cock jerked. Between thumb and forefinger Kirk pinched the tit, moved to its twin to stimulate that one as well, then reached up to the shiny gilded collar and gave a peremptory little tug; whispered again, “Kiss me.”

Bracing himself against the edge of the bed, Spock leaned forward with the pressure on his neck, bent his head down to meet Kirk’s lips, chest against chest. The touch drew a moan from Kirk’s throat, and his arms slipped around the solid body pressing him into the bed. Eagerly Spock’s tongue thrust into his mouth, warm and firm and wet, explored his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his tongue. Kirk moaned again; squeezed Spock’s shoulders, rubbed warm hands all over the tensed back, while their tongues met and played together. He could feel hot blood pulsing into his cock with each beat of his heart. Ever so lightly his fingers drifted down the vertebral channel of the body above him, and with a shuddering little gasp upon Kirk’s mouth, Spock thrust his own swelling parts against the side of the bed.

Kirk broke the kiss; reached down to grasp Spock’s hips and still his frottage. “Uh uh,” he scolded gently, kissing little cat-kisses on thin alien lips. One finger slid back and forth across the slave collar. “You’re not supposed to pleasure yourself now. According to the poem, your only desire in life is to serve me, and you’re supposed to be denied any release unless maybe I choose to give it to you. Serve me, warrior-slave. I want to be pleasured. Kiss me. Kiss me all over.” Hazel eyes twinkled playfully.

Spock only groaned, while his organ swelled even harder, but compliantly he squirmed down to suck and tease his partner’s tits.

“Oh, yesss… Spock… that’s good. Keep it up… keep it up…”

Teeth nipped, tugged, moved from one nipple to the other, then back again.

“Ohh…” Kirk’s hands took the sleek head at his chest, lungs breathed in the clean scent of freshly washed hair. The stimulation raced straight down to his genitals. Eagerly he stroked the servile body, traced down one muscled arm to the manacles, then gripped the chain so as to force a little strain of leverage upon his willing captive. Sensually Spock tightened his muscles against the restraints, trailed his prodding tongue down Kirk’s chest, down his belly. Reactively Kirk’s abdominal muscles jumped, and a little shuddering laugh broke from his lips. Then abruptly one impatient hand yanked the towel away, while the other pushed Spock’s head lower. Warm moist breath tickled his pubic hair, hot wet mouth took his glans for a quick taste.

“Spock!” – a breathy gasp, cock raised up expectantly – “… do that again… please…”

Obediently Spock’s mouth reiterated its action, and Kirk groaned again. His cock arched up against his stomach, seeking a welcome orifice into which to pour its fluid.

A moan from Spock echoed him, excitement-sweat slicked Vulcan skin, as the bound man continued the stimulating mouth-work; and the memory of last night’s incubus arose behind Kirk’s eyes. Lazily he drew up both knees and spread them.

Another moan from Spock, and again he tried to hump the mattress, his cock and balls just as needy as Kirk’s.

Abruptly the flat of Kirk’s hand smacked his rump through the towel, and Spock jerked in surprise.

“Hey,” Kirk insisted, “I told you not to play with yourself. I guess I’ll just have to discipline you for ignoring my warning.” Another playful slap, just hard enough to sting. “You’re not supposed to disobey me, my warrior love-slave.”

Spock’s breath quivered with anticipation. The stimulation – more pleasurable than painful – only increased his genital arousal. “Whatever my captain wishes,” he gasped, despite his driving desire to rub himself to orgasm against the bed.

Kirk tugged at his partner’s brief covering. “The first thing your captain wishes is to get rid of this interference.” The towel dropped to the floor, and then Spock was as naked as Kirk. Appreciatively Kirk stroked the exposed tight ass now flushed a shade more greenish than the surrounding area, then smacked it again, and felt the firm flesh jiggle under the impact. Again Spock gasped and tried to jerk away a little – and the action itself rubbed his throbbing genitals even more against the coarse bedspread material.

“Then the next thing your captain wishes,” Kirk was saying, while his hand landed on the taut flesh again, “is for you to continue your kissing.” Another slap.

Spock’s lips tightened. “My captain is enjoying this.”

“Your captain _is_ having a lot of fun.”

“I do not believe that Starfleet condones corporal punishment.”

“Starfleet doesn't know what it’s missing… besides, that poem of yours did mention feeling the hot flush of your blood…” – a glance at warm buttocks – “and you certainly are flushed now.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Spock agreed, wincing not so much from the slight pain of the spanking, as from the lack of attention to his begging genitals. He looked at Kirk’s arched cock, studied the distended veins running along the swollen shaft, admired the dark pulsing head. Then tenderly he laid another kiss upon that instrument of so many pleasures, lips barely touching the hot slick glans, so that Kirk moaned again and lifted his hips up off the mattress.

“Take it in your mouth,” Kirk insisted. “Suck me off now… please…”

But Spock just touched it again with his lips, took the head for a brief taste, then released it. Desperately Kirk hitched up to try to follow the sweet refreshing cavern. Spock nipped a little at the crown ridge, then gently blew a cool breath on the hot organ.

“Oh!” Kirk gasped, hips jerking up abruptly, and Spock smiled to himself, as the tantalizing wisp of air had exactly the effect that he had planned. Then sliding his lips down the proudly erect flesh of his bed-mate, he moved his attention to the human’s balls, heavy in their blood-filled sac, kissed each one, then took the bulge of the left testis into his mouth and sucked it.

“godSpock!” Kirk blurted, grabbing two fistfuls of sweat-soaked black hair and forcing that head to its work. Spock sucked well, then shifted his interest to its twin, engulfed the smooth lump in hot wetness, sucked it, tongued it; and Kirk’s pelvis was jerking fast and hard in involuntary response. Spock let go, blew another cool wash of air on the saliva-wet scrotum, and Kirk’s body jerked again sharply. Pre-sem was leaking down the rose organ, dribbling onto Kirk’s belly. Passionately Kirk’s hands slid all over his lover’s damp hair and sweaty face, then moved to grip his own cock and hold the upright flesh, demanding resolution now.

“… Jim…” Spock whispered, and Kirk’s hungry gaze raked over the manacled slave-chained dominant-male Vulcan kneeling beside the bed, kneeling there sweating his own hungry need. But to Kirk’s delight, that dominant-male Vulcan lover of his was gamely playing along with this fantasy; then ignoring his own raging fever, Spock went down firmly on Kirk's organ and sucked as hard as he could.

“Spock!” Kirk gasped again, while everything in his loins spasmed, and creamy fluid spurted into Spock’s mouth. “SpockSpockSpock!”

Spock just continued to suck and swallow, tug this way and that on the fleshy rod until it had spent its load and began to soften in his mouth. Then releasing it from its haven, he looked it over once again, still tender-red and glistening with mucus and saliva, then licked the last drop from the little orifice.

Another quiver spidered over Kirk’s body. “… ohgod Spock…” he panted limp form exertion, chest heaving, sweat rolling off his skin. “… ohgod Spock... that was incredible…” Weakly he tugged at one of Spock’s bound arms. “C’mere, Vulcan.”

Obligingly Spock climbed onto the bed, wriggled his way up until he lay fully atop the exhausted human. Lazy arms wrapped about him, and human lips sought his own. Again they kissed again and again, Kirk moaning his ecstasies into Spock’s throat. Spock filled Kirk with his tongue; and Kirk could taste his own salty-bitter semen which Spock had willingly drunk from him.

Sensually Kirk lapped the taste from Spock’s tongue, kissed him again, whispered against thin lips, “… I love you… god, I love you, Spock…”

“I would hope so,” Spock responded straight-forwardly. “After all, I _am_ your bond-mate.”

At that, Kirk broke the kiss. “Spock…” he complained, “when someone says ‘I love you’, you’re supposed to reply, ‘I love you too’, or something like that. Not ‘I would hope so’.”

“Perhaps I could,” Spock asserted, “if my loins did not ache so.”

Teasingly Kirk squirmed his abdomen beneath the weeping rock-hard shaft ramming his belly. “Are you saying that you want to do something about this thing of yours, love-slave?”

“That is the _point_ ,” – a little jab of jade-green cock against smooth belly to punctuate the pun – “which I am attempting to convey.”

A groan of laughter at the horrendous Vulcan attempt at humor, then ever-so-casually, Kirk stroked down a sweaty back, muscle-strained arms. “Well… maybe I’ll unlock your chains… later… if it pleases me…”

“It pleases _me_ _now_ ,” Spock insisted simply; and twisting his hands to grasp the manacles, he clicked something and pulled the shackles off, then drew his arms apart and dropped the irons on the pillow beside Kirk’s head.

“Hey,” Kirk protested, “how did you do that? The clerk at the store assured me that only the key would unlock them.”

“If you recall,” Spock riposted, “I fastened the irons myself. As I first took them from the box, I noticed that there was a hidden release-catch.”

“I didn’t know that. How come my bond-mate is such a mechanical genius?”

Long slender fingers unclasped the collar as well. “Your bond-mate just happens to be acutely observant.”

Kirk studied the collar attentively, curiously. “Show me how you did that.”

“Very well, I shall,” Spock agreed… and reaching forward, locked it about Kirk’s neck. “… after I am through with _you_ , my warrior love-slave.”

  
* * * * *

_to be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk had only read part of the ancient Vulcan erotica book – perhaps he should have read the rest – as he found himself chained now to the bed, with the tables turned – and the distinct impression that his captaincy would not protect him at all from his first officer’s very eager enthusiastic erotic assault…

Reaching forward, Spock locked the jeweled collar about Kirk’s neck. “… my warrior love-slave.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Kirk balked and mock-struggled as Spock drew his arms up over his head on the pillow, and locked his wrists to bars of the headboard. “Who said anything about _me_ being tied up? All your poem said was that _you_ wanted to be chained and made to submit. It didn’t say anything about reversing positions.”

Now it was Spock’s turn to trace an intimate touch over the helpless body lying between his spraddling thighs. He fingered a tender nipple. “Did you not read the poem following that one?” The weight of his swollen balls rested on Kirk’s groin.

Kirk shook his head. “Uh, as a matter of fact, no. After reading the first one, I, uh, had to take care of business, then I fell asleep. I never got to the next page. Why? Should I have?”

Carefully Spock nodded, now plucked at two tender nipples. “It would have been wise to do so… Captain…”

“Oh.” And Kirk’s pulse raced with excitement: The way Spock had pronounced it, Kirk had the distinct impression that his captaincy would not protect him at all from a very eager enthusiastic assault within the next few minutes. Then he suggested with as much charm as he could ooze, “Why don’t you unchain me so I can read it now?”

But Spock had another idea. “Why don’t you roll over… and fold your knees under you… and I shall recite it for you?”

Cautiously, as though perhaps concerned for some long-lost virginity, Kirk wriggled over onto his elbows and knees, ass up in the air, head down between his forearms. The change in position crossed his gilt-shackled wrists. A glance to the side to flash a disarming smile at his lover. “You know it well enough to recite it?”

An admiring hand stroked smooth pale buttocks. “I know it quite well, t’hy’la.” A kiss to one moist cheek, then another caress.

“ ‘ _And then thou shalt kneel before me_

 _and bow thy head in love’s submission_.

_Warrior-brother who stands at my side_

_upon the slopes of Seleya,_

_as we slay those who would desecrate our honor,_

_now offer thyself to me, bound as a slave_ ,

 _bound to my soul with silk and gold_ …’ ”

Kirk moaned as demanding knees spread his thighs apart; a loving hand reached down to cup and fondle his dangling balls and warm penis still half-hard after its climax. Then two grips spread his ass, thumbs trailed down his cleavage, touched his anus; and a delightful shiver raced through his muscles. Bound as a slave or not, he decided that there wasn’t anything more pleasurable than offering himself like this for Spock’s own intimate fantasy, as Spock had submitted to him. He could feel Spock’s wet shaft glide against his private cleavage, leaving a viscid trail of pre-sem, a promise of pleasure soon to come.

An abrupt smack across one buttock startled his reverie, then Spock bent over him, penis snugged between his ass-cheeks, arms embracing his chest, lips whispering in her ear:

“ ‘ _My touch shall enflame thy blood as the fiery blood of Seleya;_

_my kisses shall cool thee as the flowing springs of the grottoes._

_And we shall renew our union in that secret place;_

_In the cleft of rock I shall pour forth our libation,_

_Our bond-offering to Seleya’s ancient gods_.’ ”

Need had roughened his voice, loins already rocking with anticipation. And then he could wait no longer, and that fully-primed jade instrument of his nudged at his mate’s stretched orifice, pushed through the little rose sphincter and into tight moist warmth.

“… ohh…” an animal sound sighed from Kirk’s throat at the moment of penetration; a slow hiss escaped Spock’s lips… the organ backed out a fraction, then pushed forward again, an inch deeper into mucus-lubricated slickness… another sensual groan from human lips… deeper the probe impaled him, forcibly opening his accommodating sheath, sliding back, then forward, back, then forward. Bracing himself against the headboard, Kirk exerted backward pressure against Spock’s intrusion, anus relaxed; rocked forward as Spock pulled back, anus squeezing the retreating shaft; and all the while humping his body in counterpoint to Spock’s work; until the huge Vulcan prod was buried to the hilt inside him.

Momentarily Spock hesitated, clutching Kirk’s rump rightly to his groin, hands tense and trembling, breath excited and uneven. He had prolonged to his limit, now he had to climax without any further delay. Kirk felt coarse pubic hair brush the crevice of his ass, felt the swollen penile head pulse hotly deep inside his rectum.

A growl, and then Spock went to work, plunging, plunging, near-savage in his intensity, hot friction up Kirk’s channel; and Kirk knew that he would be sore when this was all over, but anything would be worth it, this heavy intense coitus. He had deliberately teased his bond-mate tonight so they could share powerful male-to-male sex: if they were blood-warriors like the lovers in Spock’s little book, then let them meet on this battlefield of love like warriors, and let their blood flame like Mount Seleya’s lava, and let them fill each other with transcendental ecstasy – a state Kirk thought he was reaching even now as he felt Spock’s body tighten on the brink, then explode into pure blinding orgasm; and the Vulcan’s ecstasy surged through their bond and flooded Kirk’s mind even as his juices gushed into Kirk’s bowels, and mental and physical heat seared Kirk, seared them both. Spock’s erection thrust into him, vigorous power-thrusts that bucked him roughly, lifting him off his knees, even as he braced himself. The gilt cuffs locking him to the headboard jerked at his wrists, bruised his flesh. He didn’t mind the pain, but he hoped that nobody would notice the marks tomorrow – he’d have a tough time explaining them away.

Spock was grunting and gasping, breathlessly pounding his last few moments of coruscating orgasm, sweat-drenched, fingers digging hard into Kirk’s hips as he slammed and slammed into the human’s tender insides. Until finally the flood ebbed and the driving passion dissipated and wisped away into nothingness.

With a groan of exhaustion, Spock collapsed over Kirk's hunched back, lungs heaving for air. Stiffly Kirk stretched his legs out behind himself to lie down flat yet not dislodge his mate’s penetration. The heavy body pressed him into the mattress, trickles of sweat dribbling off both of them.

Then as equilibrium gradually returned, Spock raised up slightly to disengage, and Kirk rolled over to face his lover, wrists still locked over his head. Another groan, and Spock settled back down, kissed warm human lips, kissed a slick human face. Sated male organs squeezed between their wet bodies.

And then Spock’s attention shifted to Kirk’s jeweled collar, and he kissed several of the gems, while his arms wrapped about Kirk’s upper body and large hands cradled a sweat-soaked head. A long slow exhalation breathed from Kirk’s nostrils. The hands stroked up his arms to his shackled wrists, fingers clasped fingers, then played over the wristlets. Grunting in anticipated relief, Kirk twisted his hands to allow Spock to release the manacles. Instead, Spock’s touch slid back down to caress his mate’s thick-muscled body beneath him.

Those muscles tensed abruptly and Kirk protested, “Hey, aren’t you going to unlock me?” Impotently he jerked at the short chain, then attempted to manipulate the shackles himself to release them as Spock had done earlier.

But Spock gripped his hands again, interrupted him, a slight tease of humor in dark eyes. “Perhaps I shall unlock them later… if it pleases me to do so…”

“If it pleases you?!...” Kirk started to retort, and was summarily muffled by a sensual mouth coming down on his. Well, if direct demand didn’t work, he’d just have to turn on that irresistible Kirk charm and bluff his way free. Submissively he melted beneath Spock’s shower of kisses all over his mouth, his face, his throat, his chest. “Oh yesss, Spock…” he moaned, squirming compliantly beneath the delightful assault. “Don’t stop, that feels so good… ohh, Spock…”

A kiss to the front of his right shoulder. “It won’t work, Jim.”

“What won’t work?”

A lick across firm lips. “You are attempting to bluff me with charisma. It won’t work.”

“Bluff you? I would never do that.”

A brush of lips to the base of his throat. “You have attempted to do so a number of times in the past. I know you, James Kirk.”

Body slumped for real. “Does that mean you’re going to keep me chained up all night like your slave?”

A tender lip-caress to freshly-shaven cheek. “The prospect _is_ eminently pleasing…”

A fruitless protest. “But I’m a starship captain. Starship captains aren’t supposed to be helplessly tied up to their own beds all night.”

”This evening’s performance _was_ your idea in the first place,” Spock reminded, again sliding his arms up to match his bond-mate’s. “And furthermore, you may be the captain outside these chambers, but within here you are my slave… and my warrior-brother,” – deftly those long sensitive fingers unclasped the shackles – “… just as I am _your_ slave and your warrior-brother.”

In relief Kirk rubbed his freed wrists, then wrapped his arms around the body making love to him, nuzzled a kiss beneath a lean jaw. “Yes, t’hy’la,” he agreed, and they kissed again. “Did my warrior-brother enjoy himself tonight?”

“Very much so.”

‘Would you like to do it again sometime?”

“I would like that. There are numerous possibilities for variations.”

Erotically Kirk’s hips rubbed against his mate’s. “Let’s read that poetry book together tomorrow night. I’ll bet there are dozens of possibilities mentioned in there for us to experiment with.”

Spock’s hands moved down his flanks, his hips, took hold of his thighs. “There are indeed, my bond-mate… dozens of possibilities…”

A contented sound purred in Kirk’s throat. They had a lot of excitement to look forward to. His warrior-mate always satisfied him to the ultimate degree.

And no doubt the ancient gods of Seleya were equally pleased with their love-offering tonight.

  
* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *

 


End file.
